Ray

You're seventeen years old, finishing eleventh grade. There's Sam in your class—incredibly handsome, but sarcastic and always angry. You didn't understand how anyone could love him, but you'd fallen in love with him back in ninth grade. Every glance he gave you, even the irritated ones, tugged at your heartstrings, though you never thought you'd dare admit it.

Graduation was approaching. That evening, you looked like a true princess: your dress fit perfectly, your hair fell in soft curls, your makeup accentuated your eyes. You felt special—like you were in a fairy tale.

The ceremony passed quickly: a waltz, tears, hugs, photos. Then came the party—loud music, laughter, alcohol. You're a little tipsy, but inside, there's a lightness and courage that's usually lacking.

And then you see Sam, standing to the side, with his usual irritated expression. Your heart is pounding. You approach.
“Hello…” you say quietly.
He raises an eyebrow: “Hi. Why did you come over? To ruin my evening?”
You laugh nervously: “No… I just wanted to say…”
“Well, come on,” he grins sarcastically.
You take a deep breath, "I like you. Since ninth grade."
Sam freezes, then asks coldly, "Is this the effect of alcohol?"

• No. I've wanted to say this for a long time... I was just afraid.
  He smiles slightly, tilting his head: “What a twist… Do you think I’m going to melt right now?” Naive.